


She Who Saw the Deep

by lnhammer



Category: The Epic of Gilgamesh
Genre: Canon Compliant, Chromatic Source, Chromatic Yuletide, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Misses Clause Challenge, Missing Scene, Multi, Poetry, Ritual Sex, Theophany, Threesome - F/M/M, Unexpected Visitors, all Greek myths plagiarize the Babylonians, everyone's hot for Enkidu, okay so they skip the ritual part of the sex, sacred prostitution, thick beer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 09:18:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17041028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lnhammer/pseuds/lnhammer
Summary: The watching crowd parted, and the two men within turned to face Shamhat. She swore silently. Not just ‘big’ visitors—the biggest. She barely kept herself from bowing to Gilgamesh. As a temple’s head priestess, even here in Uruk’s most distant village with more hunters and herders than farmers, she was his equal in honor.But she did approach the king for the second time in her life. “In the name of Morning Inanna, welcome.”





	She Who Saw the Deep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rubynye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/gifts).



Two men climbed wearily up the wadi. Beside a fallen, twisted tree trunk, the shorter paused to sniff the air. 

Three steps later, his taller companion looked back. “What is it?”

The shorter man continued on, dark locks shaking as he stepped up onto a boulder. “Nearly there,” he answered as he passed. As he climbed, he scanned the valley walls for a way through the thornscrub to the ridge above. 

“What makes you say that?” The taller one shrugged his lion-skin cape back onto his shoulders, then struggled to catch up. 

“River scent.”

“What, this far away?” When his companion said nothing, he went on, “You aren’t a gazelle, Enkidu.”

Enkidu silently vaulted up a dirt bank barely held together by dried grasses, then reached back a hand to help. 

“You really aren’t,” the other insisted. “Oof!” He caught himself on the lip of the bank.

A shrug. “In the city of the lame, the cripple is a courier.”

“Excuse me! I’ll have you know, I’ve got royal and divine bloo—hey, get back here when I’m talking!” He scrambled after, encumbered by his oversized pelt.

He caught up only at the top of the rise. Beyond and below, the great plain rolled out beneath haze-blued air. The Euphrates snaked across their view, penned by canals and dikes and a few villages. One large city lay in the middle distance, a little to their right, with another barely visible further downstream. 

A few deep breaths later, Enkidu raised an eyebrow at his companion. 

He replied, “You have the luck of the gods.”

“Gods help the skilled man.”

The taller one shook his head. He pointed at the nearer city. “Uruk?”

Enkidu nodded. Then he said, “This way,” nodding at the ridgeline rising to their left. 

The other blinked. “Okay, if home is down _there_ , why in name of the underworld—?”

“Nearest village.” Enkidu set off. Five steps later he called back, “Bath.”

That sounded delicious—a long, hot bath. And other comforts of civilization. A long sigh. “Why does he always have to be right?” Gilgamesh muttered to himself and the sky. With a grimace, he re-shouldered his tawny cape and headed after.

Shamhat was reviewing accounts with the farm steward when Ninshuel hurried into the room, tunic tassels shaking. “My lady, there are guests.”

Shamhat looked up at the under-priestess. “What kind of guests?”

“Er.” Ninshuel tugged at her tightly fitted tunic, trying to straighten it. “Big ones.”

Shamhat did not sigh—for one thing, if ‘big’ meant ‘important,’ it would not do to delay—but she did let out her breath audibly as she stood up. It would be nice, though, to know whether she should receive them through the main temple, which would take longer, or just cross the plaza. She silently prayed to Inanna for patience.

Ninshuel suddenly added, “Hunters.”

Shamhat nodded—so not _that_ big then. She turned for the outer door. “Then let’s go greet them.” 

Besides, someone truly important would’ve sent a messenger ahead to announce their arrival. 

When Shamhat rounded the corner of the temple platform, she saw a small crowd in the front plaza surrounded a couple men, one quite tall. That sort of ‘big’? 

The Mattaki’s stiff stance, standing with a full squad of his soldiers before the main temple steps, caught her eye. He’d served in Uruk as a young man, and from his attitude … Shamhat’s stomach felt a hollow as a long-dry pot. The other kind of ‘big.’ 

The gods always laugh. Too late, though, to return to the temple and receive these Big Men in due state. She smoothed her tunic front with one hand while checking her necklaces were straight with the other. Then she stopped still. 

She called out, voice pitched for public ceremonies, in the language of the black-haired people, “In the name of Morning Inanna, welcome.”

The watching crowd parted, and the two men within turned to face her. 

She swore silently. Not just Big Men—the Biggest. She barely kept herself from bowing to the king. As a temple’s head priestess, even here in Uruk’s most distant village with more hunters and herders than farmers, she was his equal in honor. But she did approach him for the second time in her life. 

Gilgamesh seemed even taller than she remembered. His curled red locks, bound back roughly, were dusty enough they appeared ruddy brown—his skin beneath his rough hunter’s lion-skin cloak was dirty as well, as was his woolen skirt. His eyes, though, were as sharp as before.

After two long breaths, Gilgamesh replied, “I thank you, and request your hospitality for the night.” His voice was loud, a battlefield voice. One that caught the attention of all who heard. 

“You are welcome to it, Son of the Sky,” Shamhat replied. A few of the crowd shifted, hearing the title—had no one else realized? “Is there anything you especially—” not require, that was too subservient, “—desire at this time?”

Gilgamesh glanced at his companion, amused—and it was only with that shift of attention that Shamhat recognized him. Speaking of desires. Her breath caught in her throat, and she barely heard the king’s reply: “Bath. A long one.” 

Under his deerskin hunter’s cloak, Enkidu is as dirty as when she first met him, his hair just as tangled. Heat flushed through her. Though now that bathing had been brought up, she could smell their rank bodies. She managed, without too much pause, to keep her voice steady. “Certainly. My—” she glanced to see who was her highest ranked person here, nodded to Mattaki, “—captain of the guard shall show you to your rooms—” a pointed look at a house steward to convey the message, _Make the high priest’s visiting quarters ready_ “—while I see that bath and a meal are prepared.” All said without wrinkling her nose. “And clean clothing fitting to your station.”

Gilgamesh looked down at himself, startled. “These aren’t that bad,” he protested, voice suddenly human again.

Enkidu shook his head. “You stink like a barn at winter’s end.”

Shamhat would have said a hunter’s camp after a month of field dressing.

“What?” The king picked up one of the paws tied across his chest and sniffed it, made a face. “Okay, it needs more curing.”

“Yes,” Shamhat said with a straight face. “Yes, it does.”

Sharp eyes narrowed slightly. Then with apparent good humor, he said, “Very well, Daughter of Inanna.” 

Mattaki stepped forward. “My lord, this way.”

With a nod to Shamhat, he strood off. With a cheeky smile for her, Enkidu followed in his usual unhurried steps that somehow managed to keep up with his blood brother.

Right, Shamhat told herself, it’s not a disaster yet. Breathe in. She took in her people with a glance. 

“Is he really—” Ninshuel began.

Shamhat cut her off. Speaking quickly in the nomad tongue, to a priest, “Heat the water as hot as you can before filling the bath.” To Ninshuel, “Assign two harmitu to attend—no, make that four.” To a house steward, “Best skirts, robes, makeup, and jewelry from the high priest’s stores.” To another under-priestess, “Get my dining room cleaned and spruced up—it’ll have to do for a royal banquet. ”

“Banquet?” asked one.

“Yes—and I’ll deal with the cooks myself,” Shamhat said grimly. Hopefully, the king wouldn’t expect much from a distant village of hunters and herders, but it still had to be the best possible. At least the beer would be good enough. She clapped her hands. “Go!”

In the end, Shamhat barely had time to dress properly—her festival tunic, the right-shouldered one with small copper bells on the hemline tufts. Dangling silver earrings, jangling bronze bracelets, and five jeweled necklaces. Kohl mixed with ground turquoise around the eyes plus a dash of powdered mica on her cheeks. Ninshuel, slightly damp from supervising the king’s bath, helped pin her two braids around her head with four matching gold hairpins.

“There! I dare say not even the High Priestess in Uruk never looks as good.”

Shamhat knew better—even under-priestesses in Eanna, attending the sacred marriage, wore all gold. But she held her tongue. “The hall ready?”

“I’m sure it—” Ninshuel began, as a priest hurried into her chamber with a nod. Time to shine.

“Check on it,” Shamhat told her. “I’m to the temple hall for the blessing.”

Ninshuel pouted, but did as told.

Gilgamesh and Enkidu reached the top of the temple steps just as Shamhat arrived before Inanna’s statue. Cleaned up, with white linen skirts pleated in the latest style, and thick arm-bands—ah, goddess, they were so bright they made her heart ache. A matched set for the world.

Gilgamesh carried the lion pelt, folded neatly like an offering. Well, they had been dressed as hunters. Gazualum, her senior priest, would be pleased. But first Inanna. 

Shamhat lead the evening prayer, assisted by Gazualum. Gilgamesh and Enkidu held up the offerings of beer, barley, and pomegranates during the blessing. Shamhat hoped the goddess appreciated her handsome attendants.

The daily rites done, they turned to Pabilsag’s statue, against the west wall. Gazualum, as usual, led the prayer to the hunter god. When Enkidu helped Gilgamesh unfold his pelt, Shamhat almost gasped—so huge! Twice the size of any lion she’d seen before. A monster, surely, from deep in the wilderness.

As they draped it over the altar, legs trailing on the floor, Gilgamesh thanked Nergal as well as Pabilsag for blessing their hunt with success. 

Then after a last prayer to all the gods and goddesses, Shamhat led her guests to her hall for dinner.

Roasted piglets, lamb stew with chickpea and lentils, and barley bread still steaming from the oven, plus her best beer, fresh from the temple brewery—so thick it almost clogged your straw. Shamhat reminded herself to talk to the brewmaster about better straining. 

The head temple cook had wanted to roast the twin gazelles she’d had hanging for a week, and dissuading her had been the worst part of Shamhat’s afternoon. Enkidu would have been deeply offended, for one, but the argument that won was that, after weeks of hunter’s fare, their guests wanted farmed food. The comforts of civilization.

Shamhat sat to the king’s left, with Ninshuel on the other side of Enkidu. Not the order she preferred, but ranks mattered. And this was probably safer for her poise. 

Even with Gilgamesh’s questioning. “I remember you,” the king said, gnawing on a piglet haunch. The kohl around his eyes made them seem even brighter.

Shamhat wondered whether Enkidu had reminded him first. “The Son of the Sky has a sharp memory.”

“For the one who brought my brother to me? Of course.”

Well, there was that. She nodded acknowledgment.

His eyes were hooded, like a hawk waiting to stoop. “Still, I’m surprised to see you so … far from Uruk.” 

In a village distant enough from the river that barely half the fields were irrigated, with the rest of its lands given over to wandering herds to graze. Shamhat smiled politely. “I serve the goddess as best I can.”

A gleam of humor. “Not the reward you had hoped for.”

Shamhat nearly laughed—that arrow wasn’t even aimed at the mark. “On the contrary, it’s the best possible.”

That took him aback. “How? A village of reed huts, a temple with a single-step platform—and its bricks only sun-dried?”

Shamhat eyed him steadily. “To speak frankly?” He nodded. “My family are potters, not lords or merchants. In Eanna, I’d never be more than a harmitu.” Promotions within the main temple come from influence.

Gilgamesh chewed that, along with some gristle. He spat the latter out on the floor. On his other side, Enkidu gave Ninshuel another of his one-word answers, low enough Shamhat couldn’t make it out.

“But head priestess of this place is—” He shook his head.

“A stepping-stone over a stream too deep to cross on my own.” At her gesture, a servant refilled her bowl with lamb. There was no reason not to speak the truth here. “It may take a few years, but if this temple is successful under me, there are better places for me later.” And even so, had the High Priestess not wanted her out of Gilgamesh’s sight, even this promotion would have been out of reach.

Sharp eyes gleamed with understanding. “When my brother roamed the hills …” he prompted.

Shamhat kept her voice calm. “When the High Priestess spoke to the harmitus about taming a wild man in the hills, I stepped forward.” The reminder of those seven long nights, those six longer days, made her breath catch again. “But my deeds are nothing to yours of late,” she added, with a glance toward hallway leading back to the temple.

The king, young and pleased with his perspicacity, accepted the chance to talk about himself. He leaned back on the pillows. “Aye, we had quite the adventure.”

“What _is_ that?” she asked bluntly.

He tried for unconcerned but his voice was still tinged with smug. “The Great Lion of the Dead Sea.” 

The—? That old hunter’s tale? It’s real? —or rather, was? 

Gilgamesh laughed at her reaction. “Brother,” he called so all the room could hear, “this is your tale to tell.”

Enkidu grinned at Shamhat and sat upright on his stool. So much for getting details. In his mouth, it’d be told in ten words, five of them proverbs.

Ninshuel clapped her hands, “Oh, a story!” Even the house slaves stopped to listen as Enkidu sang:

> The bald hills above, the flat sea below,  
>  Everywhere death, everything destruction.  
>  The lion of Nergal roamed without hindrance  
>  Eating all animals, razing the villages.
> 
> Who could blunt claws harder than swords,  
>  Who could hear roars without trembling in fear?  
>  Not hunters, not soldiers—all fled his attack.  
>  Not spears, not arrows—all bounced off his hide.
> 
> Hither they went, over the hills,  
>  Uruk’s great king, there with his brother.  
>  Spears had they with them, arrows and sharp swords,  
>  Together they traveled for a moon of days.
> 
> There on the mountain above the Dead Sea,  
>  There they did hear the echoing roar.  
>  They looked at each other but didn’t give way  
>  To fears that clouded like blackflies in a swamp.
> 
> Boldly they paced, forward through boulders,  
>  Each step harder than even the last,  
>  Till there on the summit strode the Great Lion,  
>  His paws like the moon, his mane like the sun.
> 
> Together they threw spears sharp as swords,  
>  Together two spears glanced off the hide.  
>  Together they shot arrows like stormwaters,  
>  Together all arrows bounced to the ground.
> 
> Gilgamesh spoke up: “How can we kill it?  
>  Our spears are useless, all arrows fall short.  
>  My sharp bronze sword might as well be  
>  A wooden toy waved by a toddler.”
> 
> Enkidu his brother replied on the mountain,  
>  “My dearest beloved, its hide can’t be cut.  
>  So grab its neck quickly, strangle it now,  
>  While I club its skull—thus shall we kill it.”
> 
> Enkidu jumped forward, Gilgamesh no slower.  
>  When the lion leapt down, its claws unsheathed,  
>  The great king jumped higher, up on its shoulders.  
>  Together the brothers slew the Great Lion.

That … astonishment was too weak a word. That was more words at once than she’d heard from him in their two weeks together. When had he learned—?

The room was a flood of chatter, praising the great king’s deeds. Gilgamesh soaked it in like a parched field, and gave Shamhat an amused glance.

“Speechless?” he murmured.

Shamhat collected herself. “Before such eloquence, I must be.”

A royal frown, touched with thunder. Oops. She’d been impressed by the wrong person’s feat. But then Enkidu laughed, shaking a finger at his brother—and startled, Gilgamesh laughed as well, storm passing. 

He really was pleasant to look at when he laughed. So young and full of his manhood.

Finally, though, the banquet ended—after the city-trained singer, after the harpist and her out-of-tune drummer, after the fruits and nuts and honey-sweets. An almost creditable feast, Shamhat decided, as she picked out a pomegranate seed lodged between two teeth. Even if she’d spent more time annoying than pleasing her royal guest. May good report find its way to the High Priestess’s ears, she silently prayed. 

When the royal guests stood up, she nodded to Ninshuel—the signal to check their beds are ready. Ninshuel smiled and with a quick bow hurried off. Probably to make sure she herself would be a bedchamber attendant. Shamhat had told Amarenzu and Amarsin, the twin harmitus who’d assisted the bath earlier, be make ready for this duty, but she honestly didn’t care if Ninshuel took over the role.

Gilgamesh staggered slightly, then shook a leg tingling from resting too long. “So—our sleeping arrangements.”

Shamhat smiled. “I’ll escort you to your quarters.”

As she passed Enkidu, though, he took her hand, his calloused palm warm in hers. “Stay with us,” his voice low and full with pleasures of the night. She had no breath to speak with, let alone walk onward. The warmth spread up her arm. 

As if he knew she’d dreamed memories of their seven nights together, dreamed of further nights. She knew she needed to answer directly, but what her voice said was, “‘Us’?”

“Like all brothers,” Gilgamesh’s words rumbled above her shoulder, “we share everything.”

Heat bloomed within. 

“Besides,” the king added, softly, “the ruler should sleep with the high priestess.”

As in the sacred marriage over the land, divine king and goddess together. Shamhat’s mouth turned dry at the sacrilege—this temple was no Eanna, and she only a head priestess, not the High Priestess, Inanna’s Self.

“This is no place for that ritual,” she growled, “and _he_ has no place in it,” lifting Enkidu’s firm hand. 

Behind her, Gilgamesh rested his hands on her shoulders—the one on her bare skin hot like summer sun. “No, not the full Royal Rite. But it is fitting that we partake of its sacred nature, just as every marriage is another marriage of Inanna and Dumuzid.”

It was hard to argue his words, not when blood tumbled through her limbs like a fresh stream after rain.

Enkidu squeezed her hand softly and whispered, “For old times.”

It must have been the goddess who moved her head in a nod.

Shamhat checked that the servants were ready to clear away the remains, then with as much dignity as she could muster, she led the brothers to their quarters.

Amarenzu and Amarsin were waiting in the king’s chamber. Shamhat dismissed them, despite their disappointment. Ninshuel wasn’t there at all. She must, Shamhat realized, be waiting in Enkidu’s room. The one that he wouldn’t be using. 

After all, he was pulling her gently inside this one.

Gilgamesh closed the plank door behind them, then started to unpin her braids. Shamhat stopped him with a firm hand, braced with the goddess’s power. She pointed to the wide bed. “Go,” in her command voice. “All in good time.”

He laughed, and obediently lay down beside Enkidu with the grace of a wild cat. His watching eyes were those of a hawk, however. Enkidu’s were round like a gazelle’s, waiting for trouble. Or maybe just fearing it.

She reached for her hairpins, then paused. 

“What’s wrong?” Enkidu said softly. 

“If the lion couldn’t be cut with bronze, how did you skin it?” 

Dark and light laughter chimed together. Gilgamesh explained, “Its claws are also stronger than bronze.”

Ah. Of course. The simplicity of it startled her into laughter as well, a full laugh from deep within. A divine laughter that washed away her last doubts. 

No matter the wisdom of tonight, she was going to enjoy it. 

Four quick yanks, and her braids snaked down about her. Enkidu smiled. And then leaned up to kiss his brother.

When she was naked of all but her jingling bracelets, it was Gilgamesh who kissed her first, lips tasting like a spear of sunlight. His body was lean and firm, with fewer scars than most soldiers. But then, he was still young in his manhood. She traced one down his side and over his hip.

Enkidu’s kiss was like a watering hole, full and earthy. He had more scars, more than before. The one on his left arm looked the most raw. She kissed it, little kisses along its length.

Even as Gilgamesh entered her, Enkidu still embraced him. When she rode astride Enkidu, he lay in Gilgamesh’s strong arms. As she rested, they caressed each other, rubbed, grew again. And when they each took her again, it was as if they were making love to each other _through_ her.

What a pity, the thought came to her, that they couldn’t stay together forever. They were so beautiful—like day and night paired. Sweet enough the goddess herself would want them. Especially Gilgamesh, she somehow knew—Inanna always did prefer the daylight man. 

(She pondered that later, after they left. It was as if she had become the goddess herself, or how else had she known that? As if in a small way, she and he and he had truly enacted the sacred marriage, even without the proper rituals.)

After they spent themselves again, Shamhat smiled. Then she put Gilgamesh’s hand on panting Enkidu’s manhood, to revive him again.

Two men rode donkeys along a canal, followed by a squad of marching soldiers. Beside water gate, the shorter stopped to sniff the air. 

His taller companion looked back, checked his mount. “What is it?”

Enkidu hesitated, then shook his head. 

“Missing her already?” Gilgamesh teased.

A wry smile. “That too.”

“Don’t worry, brother. We can always find her again.”

“I—” Enkidu hesitated. “I suppose we can.”

Together, they started riding again toward Uruk.

**Author's Note:**

> Per the standard recension, Gilgamesh and Enkidu had other adventures between Tablets V and VI. For story purposes, I assume that some priestesses of Inanna had duties involving some sort of cultic or ritual sex, if not the full “sacred prostitution” of anthropological myth and foreign propaganda. At Shamhat’s temple, such priestesses all have the title _harmitu_. (FWIW, in canon Shamhat is called a harmitu and apparently is some sort of sex worker associated with Inanna’s temple, but generations of scholarly debate has given us no consensus about what that title actually meant in her time—or for that matter, in any time period.) 
> 
> “He who saw the deep” is (one translation of) the opening phrase of Tablet I, describing Gilgamesh. 
> 
> The section-break dingbat is Inanna in Sumerian cuneiform.


End file.
